MEDEA - open studio on tour

October 4, 2006

Filed under: medea — medea @ 10:05 pm

 Christina Flammerdingher

14th of September
 
In the morning, at 11 am and after a very, very short introduction Danny starts his run.
 
15th of september
Our farmer, where we slept that night threw us out too early and we were definetly not ready.
 16th of September
 
The day of mascerade.
Early in the morning we unpacked the make up. What followed was a big great photo shooting in a cowless barn at the backside of our farmhouse station in Gortini, a village with ten houses and two pubs. To be made up brought us quite nearer to that out of place touristic feeling of the horse drawn caravan. We stayed that way the whole day. The Irish were irritaded and were hesitant greeting us.
In the early afternoon we arrived at the lake Lough Derk. At first Martin damaged the backlight of the bus and he did a great job fixing it. It was the first time EVER I saw him angry…
After a coffee we did the second photo shooting. It was a so very creative day with filming, recording and playing. We were working together though each of us did some work of his own as well. You will see all that at the exhibition in November.
 17th of September
 
We pass the wideness of the highlands. Driving on small streets through woods and there are no walls or fences. One of the highlights is a small selfmade house. It must be the only house in Ireland, which looks individual. That’s an amazing fact. The architecture, all houses look the same. There is no difference, no individuality. Not the houses, neither the gardens. Short english grass, small lovely figures like eagles, horses or ducks left and right on the white gateway.


 18th of September
 
Back to Ballinakill and the last night in the caravan.


 19th of September
We arrive in Galway. It will become a shopping day.


 
20th of September
We leave Galway and drive south on the coast road. We heard about a big cave and look for, but it is already closed.
Its getting dark between seven and eight and we have to hurry to find a place to sleep. The search ends at a place called birds view. We managed to make a fire in five minutes though the wood is always wet and went to beds with a wonderful outview to the sea.


 21th of September
 
Cliffs of Moher
 a stormy morning. After we found a B&B to sleep, and took a shower there, we drive to the Cliffs of Moher.
On the bottom of The cliffs they built a Tourist Information Centre with a big parking space.
 

 

Pay 5 Euro when you leave

We find our way down the road and walk back. The Cliffs are about 300 meters and the highest in Europe.
The mission is , to find the best place for the shooting of my project flying rice on the next day. Our B&B ladies forecast was stormy and windy.
The wind conditions are awful. I can only hope for the following day. I need sunshine( or at least no rain) and strong wind.
Its late, and most of the other tourists are gone. We make our way above and the asphalted road ends soon. We stop at a big sign.
Please do not go further

Danger

The way is very narrow and muddy and I think about adequate shoes and the sign we left behind us. Andrea prevered the way through the fields left handside. She didn’t see  the lovely painted sign

Be aware of the bull

(On the way back, I will take that option too)
Its getting dark and we split, Andrea want to try the straight way down, through the fields. It starts to rain a little, I cant see the way clear, and I slip a few times and my legwarmers get dirty.
Back on the street heavy rain starts and the last of my dry clothes are dripping wet. Back in the bus, Martin and I feel lucky( but my umbrella is damaged)and we have to hurry to catch up Andrea down the road. We wouldn’t have seen her, if she wouldn’t have shouted.
  22th September
 The weather is amazing. Its windy and the sky clear.
The second visit to the Cliffs of Moher. Martin is very tired because he worked the whole night on his wind and wings audio piece.
We take the way from the other side to the cliffs trough the fields. We pass a sign
Private
 

 

Don’t go further

The way up is better than yesterday and we have a lots of stuff to carry.
There is not too much time, because Astrid and I have to be in New Castle West at 6pm for a meeting with Lorcan MacCurtáin from the Arts Show on West Limerick FM and we have to find a new place to sleep.
It takes a time to find out how I have to throw the brides bunch against the wind and how to catch it in the right way. The Highheels and the wedding dress don’t make it easier.
We do a break. Martin took some coffee and things to eat with.
At the moment when we were finish and Astrid wanted work on her audio piece, it started to rain again. We are in a hurry to come back to the bus. The rain stopped, Astrid finished her record and Martin stood Eye to Eye with the owner of the sign. They talked nothing when I came there. They looked in each others faces without a word. Finally the farmer said:” did you see the sign.” Silence again. Then Martin said: “Yes.”
 New Castle West
 
It took us two hours to arrive at the radio station. We are half an hour late. Lorcan is on air. While he plays some really good dub, he goes outside for a cigarette with us. After his show we sit in the kitchen. The station is well equiped, very professional especially out of the point of view, that it is an alternative radio station and New Castle is not as big as Steyr.
Apropos Steyr. Steyr is famous in Ireland. Some people we met, told us about the old Steyr Traktoren, which are made of gun steel. Great quality- but expensive. Lorcans father has had his for fifty years now and it is still working.
He does the interview with us, we are nervous and a little drunk. Not the best conditions to talk.
Afterwards he takes us to the Poetry Festival Eigse( 21th  – 24th September). Great evening with the poets Gabriel Rosenstock and Ann Drysdale and the Traditional folk singer Jimmy Crowley( I was shocked, he is so famous, that everyone in the hall started to sing)
 23th of September
 
Too little time. We cancel the plan to drive back to Lough Ree, where the mysthic cave of the cat is ( a project by Astrid) and make our way back to New Castle. The Festival is still going on with a pub tour. It’s a poetry, music and pub theatre with local poets and musicians. Its free to do something. We are invited to sing or so, but I wouldn’t have any idea what. Not the day for that.
We meet Lorcan and do the interview again. We do a great job. It will be online next Friday.
 We make the joice to drive through, back to the beach, where we arrived eleven days ago.
Tomorrow we take the ferry from Rosslare back to Cherbourg. Eighteen hours on the water.
 
24th of September
  The last day. Depression is in the air. It was too little time, some concepts were not realised, the trip by horse was disillusioning, two of us are ill, all of us need recover from the tour.
The last few hours are well spent.
Mari Lillian plays shopping, ice skating on the beach, goes to school and cooks lasagne, lemon cake and ice cream with stones and shells.
Andrea raises some Clutterland flags on the beach, Martin and Astrid spend their time with their mini disc recorders, and I drink three cups of coffee.
    

   

  

September 19, 2006

days after

Filed under: medea — medea @ 3:09 am

christina flammerdingher:

there is already some way behind us. i had a horse, its name was danny…

i was in trouble because of this unexpectable nostalgic horse drawn caravan. four days after, i know, i like to go by horse and i like the slow way of moving through the landscapes. Its awful but true.

September 17, 2006

FIRST THREE

Filed under: medea — medea @ 12:38 am
11.September

andrea & christina.

after a hard nights driving through germany and france we are hoping for the very famous french food. sorry, at this point we have to make it official: french food in some beside-the street restaurants taste like washing powder…(nevertheless friendly garcons)
our travelling-time was calculated really short-without any longer rests or too many pissingstops, but (clever as we are) we calculated some unknown maybes -like an explosion of a wheel – and it was good to do so – couse exactly this happend. Wurz would be jealous on the fastness of our mechanic-crew. With strongly straind nerves we exactly catched the last place at the ferry.
Thanks to the coordinator, and big apprecination to our little princess mari lillian for beeing that smooth..

 

AstridTríAprile: on parting a sense of drifting occurs: I’m gliding through life, it somehow transports me to Ireland. I had stumbled over a basic Irish Gaeilic course on CDRom in a bookstore and found myself delighted in repeating these words and phrases. Only shortly after Andrea asked me to join the Medea trip to Ireland, without even knowing about my interest in the country and the language. Then I started doing some research, out of momentary boredom rather than actually searching for something, and had found the story about Queen Medb and how she conferred with Poets and Magicians. This is what I am going to do, I need to conferr with Poets&Magicians

Passing through France, listening to the incredible sad music of Anthony, all of France turns into the words: “Je ne sais pas ou est tu. Moi je suis ici. Se ci sei tu, dici: croah” - words I had said in a previous work of mine, crying like a crow to mouth things I wasn’t allowed to say out loud… Not knowing then that the sound I would wake up to every morning in Ireland would be the crying of innumerable crows, constantly flapping their wings above my head, delicate crow song.


12.September
andrea & christina:
unfortunately we forgot to take some water with us -we can tell you it would be cheaper in mongolia.beside this the night was really short after a few fata morganas we lay our eyes on ireland ( Rosslare) and after arrival our asses in the sand.
AstridTríAprile: It was a strange experience on the ferry… I thought I’d have had illusions about the viaggio to ireland and the sea and prepared myself to temporarily become a realistic person who’d just not give herself over to dreams and expectations, in order to not having to suffer from any possible disappointment… but then the wind got in my hair and moved my silken scarf and the ship was moving directly into the clouds which in the morning opend up to the sight of the Isle… and I thought about how I had split myself in two, to arrive on this place, which then becomes the third, because its neither my expectations, nor my improvised non-expectations, but unfolds itself in front of my eyes as what it is, and now Ireland somehow wraps itself around me, its weathers take me in their arms and hold me. During life we are constantly asked „how do you like it?” “what do you think?” “isn’t this good/bad?” and the answer serves mostly to fulfil this persons expectations of what you will say. The ways we present ourselves to the world… Disagreement with the preset of such questions is something that wants to stand up for itself, but the expectation grows only stronger with arguing about and discussion feeds the ego. Every time I am asked, I split my self into tinier and tinier pieces to meet the narrowness of the spectrum these questions and expectations hold. I’d prefer staying quiet. Not to be unsociable. Just to stay whole. Thoughts and emotions then appear as the hidden.
You will find some entries on poetic secrecy on the under the title of “poetry&secrecy”. There I will also try and explain the audio-work I’m doing here in Ireland and (as soon as I can) inform you about its ongoing. This is not an easy thing to do, since often it’s only afterwards that I know what’s relevant to work and what’s not.
And we work without electricity and internet almost all of the time, so I scribble some notes and wait for next opportunity to get things done. I think it’s going to be worthwhile for you, gentle readers, to recheck also past read entries, since we’ll do our best to update them whenever we can and refill missing parts with our memories & pictures…Going to Ireland I collect all the bits and pieces of my self, past and future selves, stuff them in a suitcase and ship them into the unknown to let them fall into place there.

The places we go don’t care about our expectations of them.

I kept my splitted emotions a secret (as can be expected by a person like me), but I think here it suits well the themes my work as an artist is about. I will be writing in this blog in my secret language as well, sending out secret messages which I cannot possibly state in any other language, since the words of any language I know and am capable of using have become heavy and loaded with a history I can’t bear to put into poetry, but it can be decipherd. (That’s, by the way, one reason for me to learn the Irish Gaeilic - its complitely void of any conversation I ever had in my live, its spelling’s pure mystery and I can also take advantage of the fact that its so rarely ever spoken to use it as a means of poetry&secrecy.)

My first secret message:

Jobordibi, subu dibi quebestaba nabavebe, laba nobottebe, sdrabaiabataba peber teberraba, sebentebendobo quebel mobovibimebentobo ebe ibil mobovibimebentobo debel mobotoborebe, mibi ribicobordabavobo dibi quebestaba voboltebe, quabandobo cibi sibiabamobo abaddobormebentabatibi schibiebenaba aba schibiebenaba, cobosibi vibicibinibi… ebe aballoboraba quebestobo grabandebe mobotoborebe dibivebentabavaba tebe, ebe mibi tebenebevaba sibicuburaba, pobortabandobomibi a des lointanes ensorceles… Cibi sobono dubuebe libivebellibi dibi rebeabaltábá: ibin ubunaba cibi sebeibi abandabatobo cobon mebe, nebel abaltrobo ibinvecebe nobo. ibio cibi stobo inbetween, ebe nobon mibi abascoboltaba nebessubunobo, nébé nebel ubunaba, nébé nebel abaltraba. Laba tubuaba Abastribibebellaba

Further secret messages to come under the title of “secret messages”.

After our arrival in Ireland we immediately went looking for a quiet place on the shore.I remember the last time I have been seeing the sea: the mere sight of it meant delight, each wave causing a tingle inside my head that kept repeating the word “inexhaustible, inexhaustible, inexhaustible…”, and I had felt an enchantment almost at the brink of madness. The Irish Sea touched me in a way very close to that, but totally different at the same time. I felt the same enchantment, but without thinking it as something extraordinary. It felt like home. And even this feeling of “home” is so strange, so unknown (yet something inside of me knows exactly what it is, and carries it through my life).
I took my audio-bag and went to make some recordings of the sea, my daughter running after me and taking my hand. I look at the pictures the others took of me walking at the beach and I can’t identify with the woman on these photographs at all. Am I a woman wearing jeans and a jacket? I can’t remember putting them on, I can’t even remember having bought these clothes. Maybe this outward form of mine made itself a shell, to create a hiding place for my self.
Coming back to our meeting point after recording the sea we encountered this old man having sat down there beside us. His presence radiated pure beauty and overwhelming friendliness. He made several attempts to talk to Marililli, always smiling, visibly enjoying her presence as well. I wanted to talk to him, but was too shy. Marililli wanted to talk to him, but was too shy. Seeing this man and sitting down near him I felt a confidence I hardly ever feel in life. This man somehow means that life is basically good. So gentle.
Parts of me steal themselves away to live there by the sea, going for a walk each day, looking out at the Irish Sea. My daughter goes playing with old Mr. … in the afternoon and I prepare a thermos jug of tea and some sandwiches for them to share and life is good.
We head on, to find ourselves a place to stay the night. On the road we see the ruins of a castle, go to have a look and end up staying the night. Miserable princes in the wind and the rain.

13. September:

andrea:The ruins guarantee a very special kind of comfort at 7p.m after a wet and windy wake up.
We feel like grottenolms – forgotten creatures of past times - pale and transparent sourrounded by fog. Neither the first coffee nor the second could bring back cosiness so we choose to drink some wodka and set the dragon free.
christina:uiuiui…a very special place. the night was clear and the stars amazing. we wanted to make something creative, but out of the cold point of view, we let the art art be. we raise our third flag…   

  

   

 

September 10, 2006

zwo hours before zero

Filed under: medea — medea @ 5:15 pm

bald gehts los. Im Moment sind wir noch in alle Richtungen verstreut. Martin holt seine Reserve Hosen, Astrid macht zuhause die letzten Audiotapes, Andrea packt das letzte Zeugs in einen karierten Koffer und Christina schreibt über die Situation. Die erste Etappe geht von Linz über Stuttgart nach Cherbourg/ Frankreich. Morgen abend bringt uns dann die Fähre nach Rosslare/ Irland…

welcome to the wandering Clutterland

Filed under: medea — medea @ 3:27 pm

Definitions of clutter: 

 

  • noun:   unwanted echoes that interfere with the observation of signals on a radar screen 
      

  • noun:   a confused multitude of things 
      

  • verb:   fill a space in a disorderly way 
      

Definitions of wandering    

  • noun:   travelling about without any clear destination 
      

  • adjective:   having no fixed course 
      

 

 

 

August 29, 2006

test

Filed under: medea — medea @ 11:55 am
ffffffffcghfghgfhfghfghfghfghfghfghtgfhfghfghfghfghfghfghfgh
dsfsdfsdfsdfdsfdsfsdfsd

scsdöljsdlfjkdsöfkjdsölfkjsdölfjsdlkfjsdlkfjklsdfjlsdkfj

Last Night

Filed under: medea — ushi @ 7:58 am

rtertertertretretert

Powered by WordPress